Winter

by Kodiak Bear Country

Sequel to It's Always Autumn in the Old Woods of Despair. After Kate certifies John fit for active duty, an accident threatens his life and leads Kate to reexamine her actions and fitness as a psychologist.

1. Chapter 1

Title: Winter
Author: kodiak bear
Cat: Gen
Rating: T
Warnings: Angst-fest
Summary: This is the aftermath of It's Always Autumn in the Old Trees of Despair. After Kate certifies John fit for active duty, an accident threatens his life and leads Kate to reexamine her actions and fitness as a psychologist.

AN: This story takes place in season 2. My intention was to show John's progression in accepting the feelings he admitted to in season 3 (Sateda, particularly), and in part, to fit within that sequence of his realization. Also, if you have not read Autumn, this story will not make much sense. Special thanks as always to my wonderful betas: linzi, shelly, tazmy and sholio.

AN2: Autumn is about to undergo further edits, so if you do go to read this story, I apologize for the mistakes therein. When I re-read the story to prepare to write the tag, there was one chapter in particular that had a number of typos.

Also, I just wanted to give a huge thank you to those of you reading my stories and leaving feedback. I'm not so good at replying individually here (I do far better on my journal), but I appreciate it immensely. I'm continuing to work on my goals of finishing up promised projects. This story was first on that list, next will be to finish the two incompletes posted, so look for those to be finished soon!

Autumn tag: Winter

"What if I don't want the journey?"

John watched Naem from his position on his side, only his face and hair visible under the coverlet. He looked young, vulnerable, and Naem felt a pang of regret as he answered, "Kings are never given a choice."

-- excerpt from It's Always Autumn in the Old Trees of Despair

OoO

"What happened?"

Kate had to jump to the side or get run over by the gurney. Three techs pushed the bed bearing Colonel Sheppard quickly from the gate room, into the hall, heading towards the infirmary.

Clustered around the gate, the medical debris from stabilization still littering the floor by their feet, stood the remnants of Sheppard's team, looking shell shocked. She could see enough to know that whatever had happened to John was serious: the spatter of blood on Rodney and Ronon, even Teyla.

Carson touched Kate gently on the arm, steered her from the dramatic scene, and said, "I'll brief you on the way."

OoO

Kate pushed a hand against the papers ruffling in the breeze that blew up from the ocean below. Seeing how the day was beautiful, her office stuffy, she'd decided to take the five folders outside to the balcony with a cup of coffee and do her notes and planning while basking in the warmth of the sunlight, rather than hunched over her desk.

She didn't have any pressing appointments this afternoon. And really, her absence wasn't likely to be noticed by anyone. Being a psychologist tended to be isolating, especially in a group of people like those she found herself amongst.

Military members – they were a guarded bunch as a majority, always worried that her short conversations meant something more.

Civilian scientists – they either were guarded, or far too open, taking even her small greeting as a segue to talking about their nightmare last night, and did she think it meant anything?

Inhaling the salted air, she pulled her eyes off the horizon and forced her attention back to the open file on her lap. Carson Beckett. One of the five stranded on Arstaem, and someone she knew very well. They often consulted on medical and mental ramifications regarding not only the entire expedition, but in particular, those members who belonged to off-world teams. They were the ones on the front lines, so to speak, always searching for any help they could find in potential allies and abandoned technology. What they often found was trouble, and with a lot more consistency then they found any of the former.

She uncapped her pen, and started on her treatment plan.

Carson Beckett will most likely talk openly about his experiences on Arstaem, services should revolve around offering support. He will need someone to listen. In addition to one hourly session a week, will advise Carson to confide in a friend as he feels the need arise.

Concerns – find out if Carson has anyone he feels close enough to, outside of the other four who were on Arstaem with him, that he can openly confide in. If he admits a lack thereof, increase counseling sessions to twice a week, perhaps three times if I see evidence of the increase being necessary.

Watch for changes in appetite, general malaise, irritability; in general, signs of depression. Post traumatic shock not clinically likely as the physical trauma for Carson occurred in the beginning with the drugging and capturing, along with Teyla's beating. I have not heard the entire story as of yet, but preliminary interviews revealed that there was almost a sense of settling in after the initial difficulties. I fear that the greatest trauma came with the rescue of Colonel Sheppard. I am worried about how Carson will cope with the revelation of Colonel Sheppard's true circumstances.

My tentative outlook – Carson will most likely require limited care and supervision. Offer support, observe for a period of thirty days, then re-evaluate with a possible release of care.

She shut the folder, feeling confident that Carson wouldn't be a difficult case. As a doctor, he understood the signs of depression. Also, Carson was more open with his emotions than others, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to be handling him with care. Sometimes the ones you least expected to turn inside out, did. Human beings were far from predictable.

Tired, she let her head rest against the wall. The balcony here was less popular, which was precisely why Kate had created her refuge here instead of on one of the others. Almost everyone on the expedition made their way at some point to a balcony; staring out at the vastness of water that stretched until sky and water met, it made you feel small and vulnerable, yet it often gave a sense of peace. A contradiction that, for whatever reason, helped the men and women keep it together. It was therapeutic, and it wasn't much of a surprise that she took note of the human patterns of balcony migration. Another tool to help her do her job, to keep the minds of Atlantis as healthy and whole as one could expect, considering the circumstances.

Which brought her back to why she was sitting on the balcony. Right now, Sheppard was somewhere in the city, probably alone. Maybe McKay was with him. Looking at her wrist, Heightmeyer realized their first session had been only two hours ago. She'd scheduled consecutive meetings with all five and went through the first three, took a short break, then finished with the final two: Carson and John.

Now she was writing up her observations and plans.

She'd finished four, with one to go. Taking a sip of her coffee, Kate shifted Carson's file to the deck, and pulled John's on her lap, opening it and staring at the basic facts she'd already noted. Most of what she had was secondhand information from Teyla and Carson. Teyla had given her the most to go on about what had occurred while Colonel Sheppard had been in Naem's hands, whereas Carson had been focused mainly on the physical condition.

Colonel Sheppard endured both psychological and physical torture at the hands of King Naem. The effects I anticipate are both multi-layered, and possibly devastating.

My concerns are that his normal taciturn personality trait will assert itself, and the depth of degradation and pain will be internalized. In that situation, I expect to see nightmares, weight loss, fatigue, irritability or withdrawal from normal activities. Most likely as time passes, without successful intervention, explosive outbursts will occur and a gradual decline in the colonel's mental health.

Panic attacks have already manifested on the physical side of PTSD, clearly the emotional toll will be high. The main objective is twofold. Colonel Sheppard needs to accept that the abuse at Naem's hand is not his fault. Psychologically speaking, the twisting of emotions he endured has me concerned the most. I will speak with his team and try to get them to subject John to healthy expressions of caring. Touch without pain, support without fear of reprisals or loss of caring.

As noted in earlier sessions, John has an inability to form close relationships due to a series of events in his childhood, and a poor relationship with his surviving parent.

I feel it is crucial to work with John and his team so that together they can not only heal, but show John that he has many people who do love, care and support him.

Treatment – Three hourly private sessions and two hourly sessions a week with Teyla, Carson, Rodney and Ronon as a group, for a total of five hours per week for the first two weeks. Close physical monitoring, a preventative anti-depressant, possible options; sleeping aids and nutritional support as needed. Discuss with Carson anti-depressant that will also help with panic attacks and anxiety.

Recommendation that Colonel Sheppard not be returned to active duty until further notice, a period of time undetermined.

OoO

Rodney McKay was furious, his uncharacteristic rage focused squarely on Kate. "You said he was fine, ready to return to active duty." With a shaking finger, McKay pointed at the colonel, intubated, monitors beeping the only proof that he still lived, a thin sheet all that stood between them and his naked body full of too many tubes.

"He was," she defended.

"Then you're even less of a real scientist than Carson."

With no chance for a rebuttal, McKay stormed through the open doors. He left behind a heavy cloud of emotion that seemed to have a life of its own. Teyla and Ronon sat on a bed across from Sheppard, their own eyes carrying accusations. Kate raised a shaking hand to brush away the hair that had dropped over her eye, obscuring her vision. It was a nervous habit she'd had since she was little, and when she caught herself doing it again, she forced her hand down.

Colonel Sheppard was in a coma; unless a miracle was found, the machines were only preventing the inevitable. For a psychologist, Kate was sure she wasn't facing reality like she'd have advised any of her patients. This was John in that bed, a man so full of life he vibrated with the passion simmering underneath.

By the time she had signed him off on active status, Kate had considered him a friend. At first, John had been reluctant, withdrawn, difficult…but after six weeks and a lot of hard won progress, he'd been willing to talk. He'd stopped avoiding his team and though she'd insisted he remain on the medications for another month or two, all indications were that the best possible outcome had happened.

Looking at the figure in the bed, Kate realized she'd never been more wrong.

OoO

"You know, this really isn't necessary."

Kate had to work at keeping the smile from her lips and eyes. They were in her office, their second solo therapy session, and Colonel Sheppard was as uncomfortable as she had guessed he'd be. Despite the shadowed, tired eyes that spoke of his hardship, John Sheppard had said the one thing Kate could've predicted with 100 accuracy.

She leaned forward, hands clasped. "Humor me."

Laconically, he relaxed further back, slinging an arm to the side of the chair. "I already am."

"By coming here?"

"That," Colonel Sheppard agreed. "And this." He straightened enough to retrieve a bottle of pills from his pants, holding them aloft and rolling the label back and forth for her to read. "And here I thought it was milk that did a body good."

She had known it would be difficult.

John Sheppard was a dynamic man – always moving, always changing on the surface, adapting. When many of the expedition had struggled with initial depression and anxiety after the rocky arrival on Atlantis, and subsequent discovery of how dire the situation was, Sheppard had thrown himself into the efforts of settling in with a vitality and dedication that had given Kate more cause to worry than any of the above.

John Sheppard lived under the motto of, "If you can't change the past, make damn sure you take care of the future."

What worried her then and still did now -- would John stop long enough to realize that he was just as much a part of Atlantis' future as those he fought to protect?

She knew he didn't truly realize the precipice he stood on now. He wasn't the psychologist – she was.

"Think of them as," Kate fished for an appropriate military term, "suppressive fire."

He chuckled humorlessly, but stuck them back in his pocket.

The window behind her was open, letting in the early morning breeze. The gauzy white curtains fluttered and whipped, and Kate noted John's eyes focusing on them. Watched his mind go somewhere else.

"Where are you, Colonel?"

Attention snapped back, and he narrowed his eyes at her. "Atlantis." The dry humor didn't quite make it into his tone.

Kate swiveled and stared pensively at the curtains, rising from her chair. She moved to the window and lifted the cloth, fingering it in her hand before fixing a look on John. "This caused you to remember something – from your time on Arstaem?"

Irritation replaced his lazy sprawl. "It doesn't matter. Last I checked, not even Freud considered curtains an important part of the ego."

"No, he didn't." She smiled warmly. In a way, Kate felt invigorated by John. "But certain objects have the ability to bring memories to the surface; to cause flashbacks." Without asking, she shut the window to eliminate the snapping of material in the wind. "Part of certifying you ready for active duty requires us to eliminate any hurdle that might affect you in the field." She returned to her chair and lost the smile. "Colonel, if you are in a tense situation off-world, and get distracted by the whipping sound of a curtain – if you get thrown into a flashback, valuable time might be lost, time in which the situation might deteriorate. If I'm to help you, I need you to be honest. To open up about something as harmless appearing as a curtain fluttering in a breeze."

Iron rods stiffened his limbs, but it was liquid copper in his eyes. He looked away, staring to the side of her face and avoiding eye contact. "The house…where I stayed, there were a lot of curtains…like those. Except they were black. It wasn't anything important, I just thought about the time I met…"

"You met Naem," she finished for him. Kate wasn't going to leave everything on his shoulders. She could see the struggle on his face to open up about what he considered to be such a trivial issue. But in that one sentence, he had told her so much. Where I stayed. Not, "Where I was kept". It wasn't anything important. He didn't admit that importance was irrelevant to effect. The curtains might have been unimportant, but the memory they evoked was anything but.

For a moment, empathy for the proud man forced her to swallow hard.

Sometimes, the benefits of living and working with your prospective patients also could swing the pendulum the other way. The fact that she did know John Sheppard in his regular state; that she respected and admired the man immensely for what he had done and continued to do, for all of those in the expedition; for all the lives he'd saved by risking his; it made it all the harder seeing him like this

And now he sat before her, broken. The same spirit shone through the shattered pieces, and it was her job to put him back together. To guide him in patching the cracks and making them sturdy enough to take the beating that was sure to come in the future. One thing Kate knew for certain: this wouldn't be the last time John and his team would face tragedy and pain.

He nodded, meeting her gentle look.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly. "When I met Naem."

OoO

The infirmary didn't have an official waiting area, or a conference room. Carson's office wasn't even big enough to fit more than a few people at a time, and they would be cramped at that, which is why they had gathered in the main patient bay. John's team sat on gurneys, while Kate hovered by a chair, uncertainty keeping her from sitting. Arms crossed, Elizabeth leaned against the wall; beside her, Carson mirrored her pose.

After Rodney had left, Elizabeth had given him time to regroup before calling him back. Now, she wanted answers. "How did this happen?" For a demand, it came out weak and weary, lacking strength. Lines of exhaustion marred her eyes.

Kate was well aware that Elizabeth was struggling with insomnia, and twelve hours after John had returned in the arms of his team, more dead than alive, she hadn't had a chance to even try and rest.

Rodney's earlier rage had disappeared, but only from the surface. It simmered underneath. "A mistake," he snapped. "A stupid, idiotic mistake."

When he didn't elaborate, Elizabeth raised an eyebrow towards Teyla.

Silence descended, but Kate realized Teyla wasn't going to answer, because she wasn't aware of the question. She was staring at the door that led to Critical Care, and from the unfocused expression, if Kate had to guess, she'd say Teyla wasn't even in the room with them right now. She was in there, with John.

"Colonel Sheppard's mistake?" Kate had to ask, though the words tasted dreadful, Rodney's earlier accusation still fresh in her mind.

Rodney almost looked delighted that she'd asked. Savagely, he said, "Not Sheppard's -- yours."

"Rodney!" Elizabeth unfolded from the wall, censure mixed with concern. "We're all professionals – let's remember that, please. Now, again, what happened?"

"It's fine, Elizabeth," Kate assured her. She was a big girl, and if she was to blame for John's condition, then she could well understand Rodney's emotional onslaught. "Please, Rodney, explain."

Rodney slid off the gurney, grabbing his tac vest that he'd abandoned earlier. Kate realized he was going to leave, retreat like he'd taken to doing so many times during his recovery from Arstaem and since they'd gated home with John's limp body. Which was why she was surprised when he started to explain. "We stumbled on another culture with rituals bordering on the asinine. Surprise, surprise, who do you think freaked out when a chief just happened to hold out a ceremonial spoon and demand Sheppard to 'open'? Hmmmm?" Rodney's angry finger flung back at the door leading into critical care, the same way he'd done earlier, and he snarled, "One guess – he's lying in there, currently fighting for his life – does that help clarify the situation?"

He didn't wait around for Kate to reply. His disgusted look conveyed clearly he didn't care about an apology and he wasn't waiting around to hear if one was forthcoming. Instead, he strode angrily through the outer doors leading into the corridor, doing just as she'd predicted moments before.

Ronon threw Kate a dark look, then grabbed his gear and jogged after Rodney.

"I…" Kate was rarely at a loss for words, but in this case, could there possibly be a right thing to say?

"He is angry." Teyla's eyes had pulled away from the door but she wasn't quite making eye contact with Kate. "Seeing John --"

"Teyla," prompted Elizabeth, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose while she fought against the tension headache Kate could read loud and clear, "what happened?"

Though Elizabeth was looking at Teyla, Teyla wasn't looking at Elizabeth. Her eyes skirted to the door, then locked with Kate's, and this time Kate knew she wasn't going to hold anything back.

"Rodney explained correctly…" Her jaw hardened. "There was a ritual meant for the leaders of both parties to demonstrate trust and openness. In the ceremony, each leader feeds the other from their hand; it is meant to represent faith and goodwill – belief that the other leader means no wrong. They did not know of our ignorance with their customs, and John had no prior warning. I believe his reaction was reflexive – one of the chief's guards mistook his move as a threat --"

"I…I didn't know that John would react --" Could this really be her fault? Could she have prematurely certified Colonel Sheppard ready for active duty?

"Kate, no one is blaming you --" Carson started.

"Rodney is," Kate reminded him dryly. "And perhaps with good reason." She folded her arms around her chest and tried to walk back through the sessions, the progress, and find one hint, one moment in her memories, that could've served as a warning beacon against John's reaction. She looked away from Teyla, Elizabeth, and Carson, and stepped up to the doors, looking through them and at the still body surrounded by machines; the edges of a thick, white bandage peeked from underneath the green sheet.

Had she truly failed? Was his condition her fault?

What had she missed?

OoO

The room reflected planning the five dejected figures would never consciously notice. As they filed in, she saw them search for a place to sit, then watched as surprise settled in over the fact that there weren't any chairs in the room.

Clasping her hands in front of her waist, Kate shrugged her shoulders forward slightly toward the pillows. "Please, find one that appeals, and get comfortable. The floor is softer than it looks, I promise."

Maybe it had been a gym in the days of the Ancients. Maybe it had been a therapy room. Or maybe the Ancients just had a thing for soft floors. Either way, it was wall to wall padded softness… not exactly carpet, but a soft foamy substance with a layer of spongy plastic-like coating to keep the floor from being shredded. It conformed to the body, let one sink low and be supported at the same time.

They were dressed loosely in clothing that signified their restricted status. Rodney wore an unbuttoned shirt over a gray tee, dirty jeans, and his feet sans shoes were clad with socks in need of bleach. He scowled at the floor, at Kate, and then chose the purple pillow. Interesting.

Teyla wore an Athosian outfit that Kate had often seen her wear during sparring. Sometimes Kate wandered around the city, floating through the personnel to observe them in their normal activities. If you didn't know what normal was, how could you be certain of abnormal? Most psychologists on Earth only saw their patients when conditions had progressed to the latter stage, but knowing the former offered tremendous clinical insight. Teyla took the green pillow.

Ronon seemed unsure at first, surprising Kate, but then with a single-mindedness that seemed bent on burying his earlier hesitation, he chose the large brown one near Teyla. He didn't sit on it, but chose to lean his upper body into the oversized pillow, while he let his legs stretch out in front of him. He was the only one wearing the same clothes he wore every day. The notable difference – no visible weapons, a request from Elizabeth that had originated with Kate.

Sheppard and Carson had entered last. They were also last to choose a pillow. Carson flopped on the red, dressed in jeans that didn't look much cleaner than Rodney's, and a soft butter yellow t-shirt. His feet were bare after he left his shoes at the door, like the others had before.

Sheppard seemed momentarily confused by the set-up. He was the only one who looked Kate in the eye. She held her breath, sensing a refusal skirting underneath the colonel's lazy posture, and she let it out when he curled his mouth into a smile that said everything for him, and chose the blue. Bare feet, black t-shirt that looked military issue, and blue track pants. He looked irascible, withdrawn and haunted, all at the same time.

These five individuals were in her care, and would be for the foreseeable future. Their physical wounds were mostly healed. Emotional wounds were not so easily recovered from. She'd wanted this room in particular to help identify their needs, their moods. The multi-colored pillows that they assumed were decoration were far more than that.

Color studies were popular in earlier years, though not so much now, but Kate happened to believe they bore merit. In the 1940's Max Luscher had identified eight colors that could tell a subject's stress level and psychological make-up. While Kate wouldn't go so far as to believe all his theories were accurate, some color therapy had been used with success in the past, and here she found it interesting when paired with the five's choices. She had decorated this room after the first Siege on Atlantis. In the year since, it'd proved valuable.

It told Kate that her basic assumptions on the personalities of those in the room still held true, despite their recent ordeal. It also told her who was more stressed. But again, it wasn't a surprise.

"Before we get started," Kate began, settling down on another red pillow, "I'd like to explain that while this is group therapy, I don't expect you to confess your deep and darkest secrets in front of your teammates and friends." She purposefully kept her eyes away from Colonel Sheppard. "We are here to discuss what happened on Arstaem, share experiences --" Kate made an abortive gesture at Sheppard. "You were separated from your team for a great deal of time and I'm under the impression that none of you have a clear picture of what occurred on either side of the situation."

"I'm pretty sure we get the gist of it now." Rodney's sour expression betrayed much more than he was aware. Kate considered the others. Teyla looked upset. Ronon was secluding himself, boxing up emotions inside and Kate could swear she could see it even as it was happening inside of the Runner. Carson grimaced, and shot a guilty look towards Sheppard. And Sheppard stared stonily at her. As if to say, "See, Doc, we aren't going to be easy."

"Why don't you tell me the gist, Rodney?" Kate figured Rodney was as good of a person to start with as anyone. Teyla would've been too tentative, Ronon monosyllabic. Rodney was likely to spout off and say the most, and with enough bitterness to initiate the others into further exposition. Carson would've replied, but he wouldn't do so in a manner that would inflame the others, and Sheppard wasn't likely to give her a straight answer for weeks, and that was if she was lucky.

Rodney's anger rapidly diminished, leaving him floundering. For all his anger, Kate knew he wasn't ready to put words out there in front of everyone. He slid an embarrassed look at Sheppard, but Sheppard wasn't connecting with Rodney. No, Colonel Sheppard was practicing being one with the floor.

Well, she hadn't expected the first group session to be a breeze.

"I'll start, then," offered Kate. "Naem separated you four from Colonel Sheppard from the beginning. He tried to isolate the colonel, and tear him down only to rebuild him into the heir of Arstaem, and in the process, he used methods passed down from generation to generation …methods that our world considers particularly brutal and abusive. Am I getting this right?"

"You have neglected to mention how we were led to believe John was living well, and being treated kindly."

Kate's attention left Rodney, and focused on Teyla, her soft-spoken statement coming subdued and unexpected. Kate had believed Teyla would wait, observe, and then contribute. "I did," Kate admitted.

"What – did you think it wasn't important?" demanded Ronon.

"No, that wasn't it at all."

"Of course it isn't," Rodney broke in. "Ronon, this is all part of the routine. She's purposefully leaving out information so that we'll speak up, begin talking." The blue eyes had a new hardness that made Kate shiver. "Pathetic, really, now that I think about it."

The bitterness was tangible. This was a Rodney McKay who she had never seen. In their previous sessions, he had been a man needing someone to listen to his fears, and someone to offer him reassurance that his feelings were normal. Maybe, once, after the events on Doranda, she had caught a glimpse of how angry he could be, but then it had been tempered by the sobering realization that he'd come close to letting himself and Colonel Sheppard die. One moment more and they wouldn't have made it out alive.

"Rodney, that isn't fair!" protested Carson. "Kate's trying to help us move through what happened, and there's no need to be nasty about it."

"I don't know, Doc, I think Rodney's got it right for once." Sheppard didn't look at Carson, or Rodney. Instead, he looked pointedly at Kate.

"Thank you, Colonel…wait a minute…once? What's that supposed to mean?"

Teyla leaned closer to Rodney and enunciated, "That you are prone to making misjudgments."

"Leave McKay alone. He's just saying what we're all feeling."

"Do you believe that, Ronon?" Kate asked. Or, she tried to. Her question was overrun by Carson's, "You've got that right, Love – Rodney's got no leg to stand on right now."

But Sheppard didn't agree and before Kate could call a halt to the comments, he interrupted with, "From where I'm sitting he's got two legs to stand on."

Flushed, Teyla frowned. "Kate is only trying to help us."

"I didn't ask for her help," Ronon said flatly.

"Damn straight, big guy." Sheppard's agreement came with enough emotional undertone to make Kate wince.

"You didn't ask to be rescued either, but I'm sure you appreciated it nonetheless." Carson's fists were clenched in his lap, his nostrils flared with the angry, deep breaths he was taking. He stared accusingly at Sheppard. "Just once, Colonel, you could've said something about what was happening to you. A whispered word, anything, so that we could've done something."

"What are you implying, Carson – that I wanted to be stuck in that…"

"You know better than to believe any such thing! Think, for just one moment, think! You're not going to get up and walk away from what you went through with a band-aid on your back and a note in your medical record. It goes much deeper than that this time."

Five subdued, dejected figures fell quiet now, and Kate suddenly wished for the arguing to return, because at least then they looked alive. Ready to fight. Now, they simply looked defeated by Carson's words.

OoO

Interlude: Rodney

John was sitting in the gym, alone. The bench by his side was cluttered with his abandoned red boxing gloves and white wrist tape, but he wasn't cleaning up, or getting ready for round two. He just sat there, staring out the stained-glass window.

For a minute, Rodney paused in the doorway.

Should he go, let John have his privacy – or was this one of those times where a friend was supposed to intrude? It's just…Rodney hadn't really done the friend thing, at least not much. And he couldn't ever say he'd been any good at it.

He'd definitely failed on Arstaem. And he hated the bitter taste of failure.

"What'd you need, Rodney?"

Well, decided for him, then. Maybe it was just as well. Rodney pushed his hands into his pockets, feeling awkward. And annoyed. "You know what I need."

Slowly, John's head rolled, his eyes reluctantly pulling away from the scenic view through warped glass and finding Rodney. He looked tired –

"Are you getting any sleep at all?" Rodney asked, moving in. "Because you look like crap."

John chuckled mirthlessly and turned back to the window.

So, this was going well.

Rodney slapped a fist nervously against his palm, and looked around. A punching bag swung in small concentric circles – John hadn't stopped exercising long ago, apparently. Yet, sliding a look at him, Rodney could tell he wasn't breathing hard.

He steadied his nerve and walked to the bag, stilling its motion with his hands on either side. Rodney wished it was as easy to fix this…thing…this fracture in their friendship. Rodney had never set out to think the worst of John, or to hold circumstances against him. It was just – there in the village -- they'd been drugged, humiliated, reviled. Teyla had suffered, they had suffered, and Rodney hadn't been able to do anything. And all the while, they'd been led to believe that John was literally enjoying the royal treatment.

The room was too quiet. Muffled; the padding on the floor dampening sounds. Rodney eyed the door around the bag, thinking maybe a strategic withdrawal was the best option.

"Look --"

"Sheppard --"

They stared at each other. John slid his legs to the floor and waved a hand at Rodney. "Go ahead." He started picking up the scraps of tape and balling them together.

Yeah, go ahead, Rodney. Crap. This was…hard. Humble. He'd pushed John since they'd been back, and he had enough regret over that, too. "Okay, I will." He pulled away from the support he took from the stupid stuffed bag. Probably just plunging in and saying what he had to say was what Rodney needed to do.

"I screwed up." He didn't want to look John in the eyes but somehow he found the guts to do it. Rodney could be a lot of crappy things – impatient, irritable, rude, arrogant… but he shoved himself through life, and he didn't wallow. "I'm a negative person, you knew that. I…I might have…believed some things that weren't…that were out of character, and I just…" he fumbled. God…this was hard. Why was this so hard? They were just words. "We're good, right? I mean – I need to know that you'll still have my back when we're out there. And I need you to know that I won't just have your back, I'll be washing it for the next year or two…to make up for this. Maybe…okay, six months, a year's a little excessive…"

John rolled himself off the bench and shoved the ball of tape and gloves into his bag. "I'll have your back, Rodney."

Rodney nodded. He felt like he'd lost something though. "And we're still --"

"Friends?" John paused in zipping the bag.

Something inside Rodney iced over. "I…I'd …uh, hoped."

He tended to be negative. Possibly cowardly, at least in his previous life, which counted as anything before Atlantis… He knew he was emotionally closed off from stuff like this…or rather, he used to be. Stiffening, Rodney nodded tightly at John. He'd guessed it might end like this. Fine. He could handle it. "Well, I guess that's it…I'll see you at our session." Kate was waiting to pick at their barely-healed scabs.

He aimed for the door, not trusting himself to spare another look at John. The cost was too high.

When John's hand caught his shoulder, stopping him, Rodney found himself doing it anyway.

"Rodney – I've lost too many friends to let something like this…it was a mistake. I could've said something…let you know, but I didn't." John grimaced and tried to stand taller than he was.

Rodney nodded. "Right." He nodded again, gaining strength, relief. "We all kind of…screwed up, right? It's just…"

It's just that John was the one to pay the highest price.

"Look, we're getting through it. Six months from now, this will just be a bad memory and an infrequent nightmare." John slung an arm around Rodney's shoulders, offering nothing more than emotional support. "Come on, group therapy in ten, and I've got to shower or there'll be a lot more misery than usual."

As they headed for the transporter, Rodney had to ask, "So, does boxing really help? I have this incredible urge to hit things lately…"

OoO

The curtains – the curtains had been a clue. Where there's smoke, there's fire, and she had missed it.

A soft misting rain tickled against her face.

Kate stared across the leaden, gray sky, and thought there couldn't be a better match for the current mood in the city. John was dying.

Angry, tumultuous thoughts raced through Kate's mind. How could she have missed such a crucial issue? How could she have sent him through that 'gate, with a gun held to his head?

Rodney was furious with her. Teyla, reserved. Ronon wouldn't talk, and maybe that was for the best. She saw the accusations in their faces, even Elizabeth and Carson, though their words denied the truth of what she saw.

The weapon used was a burrowing agent. The projectile, once fired at a body, entered through the skin and began sniffing out the victim's neural pathways. It obliterated them as it went, and soon it'd find John's major neural net – his brain. And when it did, he'd die. It was a simple as that.

So far, Carson had nothing to counteract the agent. Once in the body, it broke down into components, acting like focused napalm. It was targeting John's nervous system and burning him up from the inside. Despite the fervent apologies on behalf of the people on Edalla, there was no cure. Like most weapons, once triggered, there was no going back.

The soldier that had fired was being held on his world, awaiting punishment depending on John's outcome, but how do you rightly punish someone for a tragic accident – a misunderstanding?

Kate's clothes were damp, her t-shirt clung to her skin, and her hair hung limply around her face, but she simply didn't care. She felt numb and detached. She had never failed before. She had always done her best and she'd truly managed to help those under her care, and always had the best possible outcomes. Other than Michael. And for that, she hadn't blamed herself, because there wasn't exactly a how-to class in counseling a wraith-turned-human.

But the rest, she'd done everything she could to help them. To keep them well, and on their feet.

Clutching the rail, Kate thought about the few she'd had to certify unfit for duty and had recommended they be sent home to Earth.

Had she considered it for John, only to toss it aside because of who John was?

Had she let her medical opinion be swayed by the expectations and needs of those around John?

Truth could be a bitter pill to swallow.

OoO

When Kate followed John out the Jumper's rear hatch and into the burgeoning outskirts of the Arstaem camp, she was surprised. It had only been a little over three weeks since these people had been resettled, yet the camp looked like it'd been a work in progress for triple that time.

Temporary tents were surrounded by partially built log homes. Stone was being quarried and ready for fireplaces. On the horizon, she could see where forest was being cleared. Stumps were being seeded with the techniques that had been taught to the people before Naem had kidnapped John and his team and blocked Arstaem's 'gate. Soon, those fields that had given lumber for homes would give them food.

These people were, if nothing else, efficient.

A bald-headed man wearing a soiled blue tunic strode towards them. "Majesty," he greeted, moving to his knee, dipping his head and then rising in a fluid motion so smooth it was over before it started. Kate gathered it was as practiced and routine to them as handshakes, bows, and kisses were on Earth. "I'm relieved you came as promised."

John roughly shook his head. "I'm not your king, Joros. I'm not Jaem. Quit with the Majesty stuff."

Joros -- Kate had read about him in the reports. And seen him briefly when he had come to the city yesterday, requesting John return to the settlement. Joros had been a personal guard to the royal family, and also a member of the group that had acted in secret to winnow heirs and pick leaders for succession. John's report had given the man's name, his acts, and nothing else – yet Kate was seeing far more in this meeting. Mutual respect, loyalty from Joros, and wariness from John.

This was a meeting she had never wanted. Elizabeth had called Kate to come to her office. Joros had returned with Lorne after a scheduled check-in to see how the Arstaemians were doing. By the time she arrived, Joros was accusing Elizabeth of interfering and insisting that their king see to his duties. John had been stiff-lipped for most of the exchange.

It was after Kate arrived that Joros asked for privacy to talk with John. Neither Kate nor Elizabeth wanted to give him that option, but John was still in possession of his faculties and allowed to make his own decisions. He'd agreed, and whatever Joros had said made a difference.

A man had apparently committed a crime and the Adjudicates recommended Lumival for the duration of his life, but John had ordered them to leave those practices behind, to stay buried with the last of the royal line. Kate knew John hadn't fully realized what he'd asked of the Arstaemian people. To walk away from the only life they knew. Crime and punishment would not be easily solved when their entire system was denied to them.

Kate had felt a small seed of sympathy, but when Elizabeth had asked, she had still recommended John not go. It was too soon. Atlantis could send another in his place, and Kate had pointed out that there was one very capable diplomat standing in front of her.

Of course, that was the wrong thing to say in front of John. His hands had tightened by his side. "John is a big boy and can make his own decisions."

"John --"

"No, Elizabeth. This is my choice, not yours, or Kate's."

John had looked visibly shaken but he'd insisted on going, regardless of the arguments she'd presented against it – the reasons why it was a potentially dangerous situation. He was still battling panic attacks, and suffering from insomnia. Nightmares. Returning to the hub of what was left of Arstaem so soon was like getting bitten once, and sticking your hand back in the jar for another.

Kate wished she believed John was going because he wanted, or needed to, and not just because she'd recommended against it. Elizabeth had insisted John wait until the day after, giving him time to consider the ramifications. Joros had returned to the mainland on another Jumper scheduled to visit the Athosians later that afternoon.

Of course, John hadn't changed his mind. He'd dressed in his usual uniform. One he hadn't worn since coming back through the 'gate after Naem had died. He'd lost some weight, but it mostly fit him. If anything, she sensed he was pulling strength from the familiarity of the fabric.

"King John, or King Jaem – you are the king, regardless." Joros' deep rumbling voice broke into Kate's memories and brought her back to the present. She wanted to feel anger towards this man for what he represented, only because psychologically, it was healthy. To resent those that did harm to people you cared for – and Kate cared for John. There was something deep inside her that responded to him and his pain, and all she wanted to do was hold him close even while she opened him up with surgically precise questions. It was a growing source of discomfort for her.

"Joros Caelan, I'm Doctor Kate Heightmeyer." She didn't extend her hand to shake, instead, she tilted her head slightly to the side and down, then straightened, as she knew she was supposed to.

His face was rugged and lined, and she wondered if it were just her imagination, or that they'd been etched by every hard decision the man had ever made, as if their weight had created the creases to reflect the living proof of the cost. Joros had sad but strong eyes. He returned the gesture but turned his attention quickly back to John.

"Sire, the man in question, he is being held in the tent on the other side of camp – if you would follow me?"

As they followed Joros through the muddy paths, threading between tents and people, Kate watched as John was greeted with "King!" and "Majesty!" and a few "Sire"'s, and at the least, the heads and shoulders bowed low enough to be recognized for what they were. John grew remote and terse, but he gave up correcting anyone after the first few greetings.

Then Joros was pulling back the canvas door and holding it for them to enter. John went first and Kate followed. She was hit with smoky warmth and the stifling smell of unwashed bodies. Before her eyes had adjusted to the dim light, John was snarling, "Get that thing off him!" and lunging towards a man lying on the bare dirt floor.

She gasped when she realized it was some kind of torture device laced around the man's leg. It was made out of worn leather, and as John pulled it from the man's blood-crusted thigh, Kate knew she looked horrified. There were spikes – sharp metal spikes in neat rows all the way around the bracelet-like thing. Had John endured it? Judging from his reaction, she was certain he had. Oh, John…Distance yourself, Kate. But seeing it up close --

John was shaking. He held it by the buckle and when he focused on the men grouped in the tent behind her, Kate finally realized there were others nearby. Three other men standing uneasily behind the man on the ground.

"Sire, you do not know what crime this man has committed!"

"Tretaem --" John addressed the man that had protested, and when the man acknowledged him with a nod, he tossed the bracelet at the man's chest. "I don't care what he's done, I told you everything stayed on Arstaem! I said if you accepted my offer of asylum, you'd follow the rules we set. What didn't you understand about No. More. Torture?"

John's words ground into the bodies and they visibly stiffened.

Tretaem was a short, lithe man, with a head full of gray hair in need of brushing. His eyebrows were just as bushy as his head. Kate wasn't sure she got the measure of the man in a look, but she didn't feel he was cruel. It surprised her. "Sire, he must be punished – it is why we asked you to come. We are trying --"

"Not hard enough," bit John.

"What would you have us do? Set him free? He took a woman without permission from her family! Took her, and hurt her." Tretaem clutched the bracelet to his chest, his own tunic a clean red. He wasn't toiling in the fields with the others, but Kate imagined as an adjudicate of their people, he wouldn't be.

"Took?" Kate asked.

"Physically," clarified Tretaem.

"Do you mean rape?" Mostly, there weren't language barriers but every now and then words were missing from other world's vocabulary, or meant something else entirely. Kate disliked the thought of what 'physically' implied. It might also refer to murder, but either way, it was clearly something bad.

"Rape?" Joros shook his head, puzzled. "What is the meaning of rape?"

John's anger seemed to diminish, and his eyes slid over the cowering man, disgusted. "Rape is when a person has sex with another without their permission. Is that what you did?"

The man swallowed nervously. "What's sex?"

"Sex – making babies." John looked at Kate, perplexed. It only lasted for a second before it shifted, hardness stealing over him again. He focused on the ragged figure wearing a green tunic that was torn and stained with blood and urine, if Kate's nose was any good at identifying smells. "Did you do that?"

"N...n…No." The man stuttered a weak denial, looking away from John.

Joros' face flushed scarlet and he practically leaped across the room, lifting the man up by a fisted hand wrapped in the man's tunic. "Liar," he snarled. "Kel saw you dragging her into the woods!"

"I'm…I'm sorry." The man cringed and tried to pull free of Joros' hold.

"Did. You. Do. It?" John looked like the dead calm before the raging storm, and Kate felt a spike of fear. She'd been right – this was a bad idea, but they'd come alone. There wasn't anyone for her to turn to and say, "Get him out of here."

The other two adjudicates had been quiet but now they stepped near Joros and Tretaem, joining them and encircling the man. They began to chant in low, practiced voices, "Truth follows to the grave; truth takes the soul; die and live with the Ancestors, or die and live with the underworld."

After five or six times, the chanting grew louder and faster. Kate could swear electricity filled the air. She felt the hairs on her arms raise and it was all she could do to stand still.

Apparently the man wasn't immune, either. "Yes!" he sobbed, after a chorus of denials. "Yes…yes, I did. I'm sorry – I just…she wouldn't accept my marriage offer and --"

"Shut up," John ordered the chanting men. They quieted and drew away, leaving Joros holding onto the man. "What's your name?" The man looked nervously at everyone in the room, including Kate. He sensed something lethal in the air – something Kate felt as well. She felt a shiver run down her spine.

"Wilran, Sire. Wilran Balfor."

"Balfor? Related to Tretaem?" John jerked his head towards the adjudicate.

"Distant relation, as most of us are," Tretaem answered abruptly.

John nodded, satisfied with the explanation. "Good. I wouldn't want to worry about upsetting any family. Why'd you do it, Wilran?"

Wilran was a man crushed by his life. Maybe he'd been tall and proud once, but now all that was before them was a pathetic shell, crumbled in upon himself. "She…she was mine."

"No, she wasn't," corrected Tretaem, without rancor.

"No, not…not Syn…my Lorannan." Wilran's tortured face didn't seem to look at anyone. "I lost everything," he said, spittle dribbling down the corner of his mouth. "The wraith took Lorannan – my baby. Our first baby would have been born soon, and now I have nothing. No home, no hope, no wife and baby and no world." Tear-stained cheeks trembled. "Syn could have given it back…if she'd just said yes! I thought I could convince her that I could be a good husband."

"By hurting her?" demanded John roughly.

"It wasn't…" Wilran shook his head helplessly before repeating, "I lost everything. Lorannan…my baby…"

John wasn't a pillar of ice. Kate could see Wilran's devastation leeching into John's bones, the teeth of the man's despair taking a healthy bite. Still – he'd committed a crime, and Kate's clinical opinion leaned towards Wilran being mentally unstable. He'd admitted to the crime, but he was too lost in the past to grasp the ramifications of his actions. Wilran was like a crushed child, and any punishment given would have little impact.

Kate met John's look and shook her head. She knew what he wanted – was there anything she could do. It wasn't that she couldn't treat Wilran, it was that Elizabeth wouldn't approve of the venture. The expedition's time and resources on Atlantis weren't limitless. It was the reason why Elizabeth had created a refugee policy. They would not take on other worlds' lost and damaged souls. They had enough on their plate just to survive and hold off the wraith.

John tried to stand taller; he pushed his shoulders back and rolled his head just a little – getting ready. "Wilran Balfor, I sentence you to banishment. Joros, make sure he's bound well. We'll fly him to the 'gate and send him back through to Arstaem." The man started weeping. John's jaw muscles twitched. "Be thankful I'm sending you back where at least there is shelter and food. You can survive, but you won't be staying here. The mainland doesn't have a jail; we don't have a place to incarcerate criminals. You should've thought about that before you raped the girl." He turned his back on the man and addressed Tretaem. "I want it known that serious crime will be met with a similar punishment. Rape, murder – I told you when you left Arstaem that the old ways are dead and gone. Learn to stand on your own two feet--"

Wilran screamed and pulled free of Joros, running at John. Kate shouted a warning. John turned, but Joros was faster – he pulled a sword from the scabbard tied to his waist, and thrust forward, piercing the man's back with enough blade to make Wilran stagger in his steps, arching away from the pain; his angered cry twisted into hurt, and he crumpled to the floor in front of John.

"What the hell did you do that for? I could've handled him." John was angry all over again. He stared at the man as Tretaem checked how badly the wounds were.

"He attacked you; it is an offense punishable by death." Joros wiped the soiled tip against his leather pants.

Through clenched teeth, John said, "He's not dead."

Joros shook his head sadly. "No, he's not. But he will be."

Kate had been drawn into the drama just as much as John, and had failed to realize that while they had shifted their attention to Joros, one of the other adjudicates had brought a vial to Tretaem. When Joros' words got through to John, he turned in time to see the vial pulled back from Wilran's mouth. A few harsh, pained breaths, and then Wilran's body slackened and stilled. He was breathing, but just barely.

"King Jaem --" gasped Wilran. "P…ple…please."

John knelt near enough to hear the labored whispers. "Why? You knew it was a death sentence, why run at me?"

Wilran's eyelashes were damp, his eyes completely given over to a glossy state. "I'd r…rather die…die here…then al…alone. Forgi…give me?"

"I'm not the one that needs to."

"Pl…plea…please?"

"No. You make your peace with whatever you find on the other side." John's hands hadn't reached for the dying man, instead, they were clawed in the dirt by his legs, his knees flat against the ground; he looked shattered. "I'm done with giving absolution."

Wilran had no more breath left with which to beg. Kate had to turn away as the man's back arched high one last time.

"God damn it!" John staggered back to his feet and reached for the vial still in Tretaem's hand; his fingers closed over it and Tretaem let go quickly. John stared at the vial, loathing written plainly across his face. "It worked too fast to be Haveala, what is it?"

"A tincture of raw Lumival…it begins to shut a body down almost instantly. It is merciful." Joros slid his sword back into the scarred and worn leather sheath; it matched the man that wore it. "Rarely has it been called for in our history; the only crime that results in an immediate death sentence is that of attacking the royal family, and I did not think you would want us to hang him. Besides, you heard him – he would rather die with his people than alone, banished to our world that has been claimed by the dead."

Kate had been rendered speechless but now she found her voice. "Joros, this type of act is against our beliefs. Colonel Sheppard made it clear that if your people --"

"His people," Tretaem interrupted. "We are his people, now."

"No," John said flatly. "I'm not your king – if I was, this wouldn't have happened. I'm a symbol, a remnant that never was. But if you want a king so goddamn bad, fine, you'll get one. From here on out, anyone responsible for taking another's life will be sent through the 'gate. Anyone that uses the old punishments, poisons and devices, like that -- " his finger pointed at the bracelet that at some point had been discarded on the floor, "will be sent through the 'gate. You want to stay on the mainland, then you better hope this is the last thing you do wrong."

"Colonel, maybe we should arrange for some members of the diplomatic team to work with the adjudicates and advisors, to create a reasonable code of law for them to follow in situations such as these." Kate felt sick. She had known it would be hard for them to walk away from the previous ways of life, and she had been so caught up in dealing with helping John, his team, and Carson that she had neglected to submit suggestions on how to help the Arstaemians.

What they'd been told to do -- it would be like telling everyone living in Atlantis that tomorrow they'd begin living under the same laws and mores as the Arstaemians and expecting them to follow those beliefs. Could they ask Elizabeth to sentence any of her people to torture and drugs instead of censure and revoking their status on the expedition?

The answer to that question didn't bode well for what it would take to change the Arstaemian ways and beliefs.

"Yeah…that's probably a good idea." John tossed the vial to the ground and when it didn't shatter, he stepped on it forcefully, twisting and grinding. The sound of crunching glass escaped from under his boot. Kate could see visible tremors along his hands and arms, but John wasn't done yet. He stepped over to the leg bracelet and picked it up. He was working hard to hide his emotions, and mostly succeeding, but the sheer effort of doing so was, in itself, telling. "Where's a fire?" he demanded, turning back towards Joros and the adjudicates.

Joros said stiffly, "This way."

The old guard led everyone to a central fire where women were boiling water and washing clothes. John tossed the bracelet into the flames and there wasn't a protest to be heard – just face after face of uneasiness. When he turned back to them, he said calmly, "I'm sending a team of soldiers to search every tent. If they find anything like that, the people in possession will be sent back to Arstaem. I made it clear that if you moved here, you followed my rules on this. You wanted a king, fine, you've got one!" Savagely, he kicked a stray buckle that trailed out of the pit, almost clawing at a last chance of life, until it disappeared with the rest of the bracelet, devoured by the flames. "Now you live with what it costs."